


Mouthful of cotton

by Crystalitemoon



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Anorexia, Author is feeling shitty so they take it out on their favorite child, Eating Disorders, Hospitals, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Oma Kokichi Is a Mess, Oma Kokichi Needs a Hug, Poor Life Choices, Poor Oma Kokichi, Recovery, Sad Oma Kokichi, Sad Saihara Shuichi, Self destruction, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags will be added, bad relationship with food
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalitemoon/pseuds/Crystalitemoon
Summary: Kokichi giggles as he twirls on the stone bridge, swaying precariously over the side of the arc.   Swinging and swinging, turning like a top as he dances on the edge of the sky.TW: for triggering themes such as Eating disorders and mentions of suicidal thoughts.  PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THAT IS YOUR TRIGGER!!
Relationships: (but it's not the main focus), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 38
Kudos: 155





	1. In too deep

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I'm not in a sound place mentally right now, so I decided to project my issues onto Kokichi. I'm sinking deeper and deeper into my eating disorder, and the stress from school really isn't doing anything to help my mental health right now. So i just decided to write it out.
> 
> Anyway, another factor that added to me making this train wreck is the lack of factual ED representation that I see everywhere. There's a lot of fics out there that romanticize eating disorders, and I wanted to add something to counteract those. EDs' are not pretty, and they're not quirky. They will ruin your fucking life. It sucks, it really does.
> 
> If you have an Eating disorder, PLEASE, if you can, SEEK HELP. If you can't right now, seek help later. If you're a minor and you're afraid of your parents (like me) try to find someone you trust, or try to keep yourself together long enough so you can get help when you move out. 
> 
> Alright, then. That's my little PSA. Please be safe, you guys.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic, I guess.
> 
> Update: i made art for this chapter! If you would like to see it, it's right [Here!](https://crystalitemoon.tumblr.com/post/631006116893114368/mouthful-of-cotton-chapter-1-crystalitemoon)

Kokichi feels heavy.

Heavy, heavy, heavy, like the stones he throws from atop the bridge, laughing and laughing and laughing until he is crying, cold and tired and alone. They hit the water with loud splashes, sounding like his steps, landing with dull _plop plop plops_ as they sink deep into the bottom of his soul and into his chest, thick, pressing, and _heavy._

_(who is there left to lie to, but himself?)_

Kokichi watches the stones sink in the lake. Cold, white snow decorates his hair like little stars, seeps into his skin and deep into his bones. His cheeks rosy with chill, skin flushed with the color it so desperately needs, pink against the sickly pallor of his flesh. Cracked and cold, gaunt and pulled thin, his eyes stray to his reflection in the murky depths of the water.

A monster stares back.

He turns around and steps off the bridge, and continues on his way. 

_Plop, plop, plop._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi lays in the dark of his room, unmoving, unblinking, curled into himself like a spiral, falling and falling and falling.

He grips his abdomen, as if the mere action could quell the storm that raged within, crying out for mercy, for a morsel of _something_ to ease the ache inside. He is soft, spilling out of the sides of his cupped hands, undeserving, unfit, unwell. The ever growing wolf gnaws at the walls of his intestines, grows desperate, grows vicious, ferocious. Howls and howls, biting fangs and claws, rips at him, shreds his insides and crawls out of his throat.

He ignores it, and instead pinches his imperfections, the bulk that pools at his thighs, his stomach, his cheeks and arms. Tugs at his supple flesh and stretches his skin. Tries to rip himself off of his bones, tries to rip his flesh off of his soul. _Heavy, heavy, heavy._

(He is falling apart at the seams.)

Kokichi feels thick, feels heavy, feels _fat_. He holds himself together, gripping his sides with trembling hands as he stares dully into nothing. He pulls himself closer, tries to disappear, tries to become smaller.

( _tries to run away, far away, from his heavy body.)_

The wolf tires, and so does he. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Kokichi is tired. So tired.

His eyes droop lower and lower as he struggles to stay awake in class, sluggish ooze seeping into his bones and crawling across his skin, drags him down, down, down. Nothing feels real anymore, and there’s a faint buzzing in his ears as his body moves. _Scratch, scratch, scratch,_ goes his pencil on paper. _Scratch, scratch, scratch._

Words he does not recognize swim across his eyes, dance just out of reach, taunting and light, drifting away from his view. He blinks, and the words settle back on the page before him. He cannot read them anymore.

He puts his head down, resting his aching eyes as he sinks deeper into the swamp he swims in. Gives up, gives in, and stops swimming. Rests.

_(Saihara glances at him for a moment, Golden eyes resting on his weary form for longer than he should.)_

Kokichi drifts away, and the howling in his stomach only grows louder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi huddles over the bathroom scale, staring at the numbers that glare at him from the small screen.

He stands up, moves away and back in front, steps on the scale and back off, stares at the numbers, steps on and off again, moves away and back once more. Twists and turns in the mirror, pinches at his sides, tugs at his softness, at his fat. Frowns at the monster in the mirror.

_(frowns at the false reality he created for himself, drowning and drowning. A stone, thrown into the lake.)_

Shaking his head, he tugs his shirt back onto his body, tugging it back to reveal the gentle slopes of his body. His heart drops lower and lower as he takes in his curves. Too thick, too fat. _Lose it, lose it, lose it._

He pokes at his stomach through his shirt, pulling his hands back as if burned. Leaves the room, and doesn’t look back at the mirror.

_(doesn’t look back at the mirror)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s an apple sitting on the counter. 

Kokichi stops in his tracks, inspects it like one would inspect a foreign object. Reaches out to touch it, only to pull back before his fingertips connect with the smooth surface of the red fruit. Backs away, then comes forward, tentative, curious, cautious. Prey in a predators den.

He reaches out to touch the object again, this time allowing his digits to glide over the tantalizing red of the fruit. Kokichi picks up the sweet orb with weary curiosity, turning it over and over in his hands. The fruit shines in the dim light of his apartment, a beacon in the trashed state of his flat. _When had he bought this?_

He brings the lavish fruit up to his cracked lips and presses them onto the cool surface, eyes far away as he inhales the scent of apple and regret. The wolf bays its head, lurching at the scent of the delicacy in his hands. Snaps and bites at him, makes him stumble, makes him dizzy, _ill_.

_(black spots dance over his vision. How long can he last?)_

Hesitantly, with trembling lips, he opens his mouth just a sliver. The redness wells up to his tongue, white teeth settling onto the smooth skin. Doesn’t puncture, doesn’t pierce into the sweetness that awaits. Sits, almost as if unsure, and waits.

Kokichi thinks about the numbers, about the curve of his thighs and the softness in his belly. Thinks about the wolf, slowly weakening, snarling in the confines of his chest. Thinks about late nights spent crying over a scale, pathetic and trembling. Thinks about the 95 calories that sit between his teeth.

He sets the apple down and leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cold. Kokichi is cold.

It’s the middle of spring, and the humidity of the air sweeps through the classroom. His classmates fan themselves lazily, complain about the ever rising temperature, about the shift of spring to summer. Sweat drips down their faces, oozes slowly, lazily, like thick molasses.

Kokichi draws his scarf closer, draws himself closer, and shivers. His skin is ice cold, pale, like white snow. Cracked, and pulled thin.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” Miu says to him, fanning herself with a wave of her hands. He rolls his eyes and smiles, weariness hiding just behind his mask as he jokes. Cruel, sharp grins and exaggerated movements push his classmates away, and he wilts slightly as they turn away from him. 

Cold. So cold.

_(Sunshine peers through thick curtains of blue, reaches his face with tentative concern and watches.)_

A headache pounds in the back of his head, twisting and curling against his skull like a viper, squeezing and squeezing. He ignores it, stares straight forward at the board as his teacher talks on. Pretends he’s fine, pretends he’s in control. Pretends he’s not sick, not twisted, not ruined. Pretends, pretends, _pretends_.

_(Pretends he isn’t wasting away, isn’t just decomposing skin on frail bones. Keep going, keep going.)_

He glances at the clock with a desperate sort of reverence. He has to get away, has to hide from the judging eyes that surround him, that crawl under his skin and into his chest.

30 more minutes. 30 more minutes until lunch begins, and he can hide himself away on the rooftop. 

_(will he last that long?)_

Kokichi grips his sides tighter and waits it out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky is pretty.

Kokichi lazily stares up at the blue, laying down on the abandoned rooftop of the Hope's peak high. Lays there, and wonders what it would feel like to fly,

He watches the clouds drift crawl slowly across the sky, watches the sun slowly inch across his vision, watches the birds soar into the distance, far from the disturbance of land.

He feels not unlike the clouds, drifting away from his body, gliding gently across the sky. Far, far away, soaring into nothingness and space. Free, yet tied down. 

_(His body weighs down on him, keeps him from flying away._ )

The soft tapping of soles against the stone floor alerts him of another presence.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here.” Saihara says, just in his line of sight. Kokichi doesn’t stop staring at the sky, doesn’t reply as Saihara sits down besides him.

“Though I suppose that’s why you picked the locks.” Saihara tilts his head down at the empty husk, golden eyes piercing through Kokichi’s misty haze. He sighs, and lifts his face up to the sky, peering at the clouds, then back down at the shorter boy.

“You didn’t have lunch today.” He says with finality, and Kokichi’s stomach lurches painfully. He flicks his eyes to Saihara, holds them for a mere fraction of a second before the burning becomes too intense. He returns to staring at the clouds.

“Of course I did.” He snarks, but it comes out tired, comes out defeated. Saihara tilts his head to the side, and Kokichi knows he’s not convinced. 

“Sure.” Saihara deadpans, and Kokichi says nothing as he presses a hand to his stomach. His golden eyes follow Kokichi’s shaking fingers, and Kokichi feels oddly ashamed. He turns his head away from the other boy, refuses to look into his disappointed eyes, refuses to let the detective peer deep into his soul and see him for who he really is.

“Class will start soon.” Saihara picks himself off the floor and looks down at the tired boy. “You coming?” An invitation, held out to him with just a simple flip of his tongue.

Kokichi stays silent. Watches a feather fall from the sky, bobbing gently in the breeze. Flipping, swooping, falling, falling, falling.

_(when will he reach the bottom?)_

Saihara only sighs, casting one final glance at the purple haired monster on the roof before padding down the stairs. 

  
  


Kokichi closes his eyes, drained of energy, and slowly slips away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi giggles as he twirls on the stone bridge, swaying precariously over the side of the arc. Swinging and swinging, turning like a top as he dances on the edge of the sky.

The lake twinkles invitingly below, calls at him, and for a second he almost makes the plunge. Almost throws himself into the comforting embrace of death, like a child would to their mother. ( ~~Something he had never known~~.)

He doesn’t, though. He continues to prance, just out of reach, just toeing the line between life and death. Twisting and turning, throwing his arms to the sky and laughing, empty, empty, _empty._

Black spots dance with him as he pirouettes, creeping across his vision, leaving him breathless. He stops to stare down at the lake, at the clouds that shift over in the mirror, toxic purple marring the otherwise peaceful sky. 

Kokichi sits down with a heavy thump, sighing as he closes his eyes and leans backwards. The cool, spring breeze wafts over his cheeks, ruffles his hair playfully and lifts him into the sky. Takes him far, far away from this place.

Or so he wishes. 

Kokichi tilts forward, contemplates. The world holds its breath.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, startling him out of his reverie. He checks the caller, bright letters flashing across the screen. _Shumai_.

He pockets his phone and continues down the road.

_(Another day. Another day.)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cafeteria is loud. 

It’s too loud, way too loud, Students chattering and screaming from all around him. Kokichi feels too small.

He doesn’t want to be here. Never did.

But Saihara had so graciously invited him to sit with his friends, and although he wouldn’t have accepted in normal circumstances, something in his eyes left no room for resistance. So, here he is.

_(Not quite there, either. Not quite anywhere.)_

Kokichi searches the packed cafeteria for any sign of the familiar blue haired boy, growing more and more anxious as he stands by himself. Each passing second brings more eyes to his awkward body, brings more attention to his disgusting form. He curves inward slightly, as if to shield him from the judging stares all around him.

( _Don't look. Don't look_ )

“Ouma-kun!” he hears from across the lunchroom, and he nearly deflates with relief as he watches the golden eyed detective wave his hand shyly. He picks his way across the room, softly pressing his feet into the floor as he drifts towards his destination. Feet like lead, head in the clouds, he sits down with a dull _plop_ , a stone dropping in the lake.

“Hi.” Saihara says, and he smiles gently back, ripples flowing outward and into the atmosphere. Momota and Harukawa glare at him as he turns away, and Kokichi pretends he doesn’t notice. Sinks, falls deeper into himself, bringing out a notebook to doodle in as he desperately waits for the lunch period to end.

“Are you not eating anything?” Saihara asks with a frown, and Kokichi whips around to stare at him. He contorts his face into a grin, hiding all traces of his earlier weariness and sharpens his gaze. Blinking, he tilts his head. “Oh? Is my beloved detective worried about me?” he lilts in his most innocent tone, changing the subject. _Please, please, please._

Momota groans and bangs a fist on the table, pointing at the startled pair with an agitated finger. “Oh my god. This is why you shouldn’t have invited this brat to eat with us, Shuichi.” Harukawa says nothing, but her gaze bores into his soul. 

Kokichi feels himself shutting down, face blank and eyes empty. A protective shield against the others. He stands up and slings his bag over his shoulder, packing his things up as he stands. He powers through the dizziness that comes with standing, face draining of color as he stumbles slightly. He doesn’t stop.

“Wait, Ouma-kun-!” Saihara reaches out to him, and Kokichi looks back at him with tired eyes. He stops in his tracks, voice sputtering out into nothing. Ripples on a pond, ebbing further and further into serenity.

“I can see I’m not wanted here.” Kokichi monotones, and shifts his bag further up his shoulder. He feels lightheaded, and just wants to hide, wants to get out of the brightness of the room around him. Eyes, eyes, _eyes everywhere_ , staring at him, judging him from all angles. 

_He has to get out of here._

“I’m not stupid.” His mouth says, and his body turns on it’s heel to leave. He doesn’t even take a step before Saihara stops him, rummaging through his bag.

“At least take this.” Saihara tosses him something, and he fumbles while catching it. Tucking it safely into his shaking hands, he thanks him with a nod and nearly books it out of the room, flees like a fish from a pebble thrown in the pond, and only stops to sigh in relief the moment he reaches the roof. 

He looks down at the object in his hand, breath catching in his throat.

The red of the apple stares back.

Kokichi cradles it in his hands, trembling as he shivers in the wind. The shine of the fruit seems to taunt him, gleaming in the dull sunlight like the barrel of a gun. Cocked and ready to shoot. 

He stares down into the barrel, and Saihara’s earnest eyes return his gaze. Pleading with his conscience, guiding his hands closer to his face, bringing the apple up to his lips. He presses his lips on the flesh of the apple and feels the heart beating in his ears.

_(Deja vu)_

Saihara’s hands seem to guide the apple closer to his fangs, closer to his aching chest, and he sinks into the sweet core of the fruit. The sugar explodes on his tongue, drips down his cheeks and onto the floor like opaque blood. Weak. He is so, so weak.

Kokichi stops before he can fully complete the bite. The apple sits halfway in his mouth, tantalizing, sweet poison. He trembles as he fights with himself, stuck between hatred and relief as he waits. The wolf snaps impatiently at his chest, hungry. He is so hungry.

_(don’t stop, don’t stop)_

Kokichi leaves the rooftop with a mouth full of cotton instead, sweet, syrupy blood spilled upon the floor like a crime scene.

( _guilty_ )

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ne, boss.” 

Kokichi looks up at Spade, watching as she brushes her pigtails behind her shoulders. He tilts his head to the side, curious. 

“Yes?” He says, and it’s soft, it’s affectionate. Only with Dice does he allow himself to be this way. Only with Dice, and never anyone else.

_(Blue hair and gold eyes, Blue hair and gold eyes)_

“Uhm, we kind of…” She trails off, and she looks around at their family. They nod at her, and Kokichi feels out of the loop. _What did they plan?_

“We’re worried.” Spade finishes, and Kokichi’s heart plummets to his empty stomach. Worried? About what? _Were they going to leave him?_

“Oh?” He smiles, and it’s fake, fake, fake, pulling his cheeks apart and cracking his already dry lips. “About what?” heavy, weighing down his chest, his bones and his eyes, pulling him further and further down into the murky waters. He feels sick, feels heavy, feels light as a feather, feels like he’s flying, feels like he’s falling. Feels like he’s dying.

( _He is. He is dying_ )

“You don’t seem to eat.” Diamond points out, and Kokichi feels ill. “Not when we visit.” Kokichi sees the opening and runs for it.

“Well, duh!” He giggles, and it comes out a bit breathier than he intends it to. “I just forget because I’m having so much fun with you guys! I do eat, though, i don’t know why y’all are so worried.” Kokichi pouts and rolls his eyes dramatically, lies falling from his lips like feathers from the sky. Flipping, floating, falling.

“You’re really thin, though.” Hearts whispers as they lean over the couch the rest of them sit on, brushing his arm with their fingers. “Really, really thin.”

Kokichi rolls his eyes again and smiles, joking about how they wanted to make him feel bad about his height, and how he can’t control these things. They share strained smiles before returning to their game. The encounter is soon pushed from their minds, and he is happy.

_(thin? t̷̥̹͈̖͉͔̄̿̅ ̶͈̤̱̄H̷̟͖͖̘͒͗̍͠i̴̫̦͎͍̥͕͑̂̋̃͘ ̸͇̜̬̭͆̊̕̕n̵͖̒͆̈́̄͜?̸̭̥̙̈́̍̂̏ )_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi feels sick.

He sits on the edge of his seat, ready to bolt as soon as the bell rings. Home, home, he wants to go home.

The teacher keeps on talking and talking, words flying straight over Kokichi’s head as his vision swims slowly out of focus. Headache, his head pounds and pounds and pounds. His insides are slowly ripped apart, and it’s only a matter of time before the wolf claws straight through, blood gushing through his shirt and onto the floor. 

_(no one will see it. No one will see.)_

The bell chimes, signaling the end of a school day. Kokichi jolts up and staggers, face numbing as his hearing goes white. He picks up his bag, no longer feeling real, and powers through until his vision breaks from the tunnel. Keeps walking, keeps walking, right out the door.

“Ouma!” Someone calls, and Kokichi turns around, flinching at the sound of his name. It’s Kiibo, and he’s running over with a slightly hesitant expression.

“Here, everyone in the class gets one.” He says, and he pushes something into his hands before running back. The class's eyes stray to his body, searching for his reaction. He feels small.

He looks down, and a small chocolate sits innocently in the palm of his hand.

Kokichi smiles, unwrapping the sweet before popping it in his mouth, repressing a shudder as it travels down his throat. “Thanks!” He smiles, and he hopes it doesn’t look shaky. Hopes it doesn't look fake.

His classmates look away, chattering to themselves. Kokichi walks off, skipping into the hallway.

The chocolate sits, heavy like a stone, in his stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wolf is dead.

Kokichi feels free, feels liberated. No more biting in his chest, no more howling in his ears. Just quiet. Just quiet.

_(he feels so light, so light. He might as well drift away.)_

He stands, swaying in the imaginary breeze, on the bridge. _(Toeing-)_ Twisting his torso around, he swings, light, free, flying. He reaches his hands up to the sky, tries to touch it, tries to feel the blue. And he does.

_(the line-)_

He giggles elatedly, hysterically, dreamily and woozily, peers down into the sparkling lake. He sees nothing, nothing, sees nothing in the reflection. Only the sun, the sun, the blazing, blazing sun.

Kokichi turns, almost airily, gracefully, and pirouettes along the arc of the bridge, kicking up pebbles and watching them skip across the lake. _Plip, plip, plip!_ Kokichi laughs at the strange noises they make, at the strange noises he makes. _(between-)_ Flying, flying, flying.

He leans dangerously over the edge, toes tap tap tapping at the ledge below him as he watches the lake ripple. Watches the fish swim far, far away from the stones. Pretty, it’s so, so pretty. The blue in the dying light of the sun. Pretty.

_(life-)_

Kokichi wants to feel the water on his skin. His lips are dry, dry, dry, and he wants to feel the water on his skin. He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t. Only leans forward, just a bit.

“Ouma-kun!” Someone screams, and he slips, slips, slips, misses his step and his world tilts sideways, flipping, floating, falling. He watches through unseeing eyes as Saihara sprints down to him, reaching forward, face contorted in a desperate expression. 

“KOKICHI!”

_(-and death)_

The water is cold.

(It's funny, it's funny. His body skips as it hits the water. Like a stone. Like a stone.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

White.

It’s white.

Kokichi opens his eyes to solid blocks of white. Slowly, he turns his head to the

window.

Sunlight filters through, settling upon his face like dove’s wings. Gentle, fluttering, soft. 

_Blip, blip, blip._

The monitor softly echoes from besides him. Echoes, echoes, echoes with the drum of his still beating heart, and he is

Cold. Kokichi is still cold. 

Tubes line their way up his arms and into his skin, threading through his nose and down his throat. An oxygen mask sits on his face, fogging up with every passing breath.

Kokichi turns his head away from the window, eyes traveling from the warmth in his hand to sad, sad eyes.

“Oh, Kokichi.” his beloved says, and he watches as tears trek down his cheeks. His voice trembles, breath wavering as his heart shatters, and he whispers. _“What did you do?”_

Kokichi

  
  


dull, heavy, Kokichi 

  
  
  


says 

  
  
  
  
  


nothing.


	2. Oh please (Just breathe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, please  
> Just breathe  
> Just breathe  
> Just breathe  
> There's a vacuum in my mind  
> Stars collapsing in my eyes  
> I live my life but it's not mine  
> Just breathe”
> 
> -Just breath, by the unlikely candidates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter. Just one more to go!
> 
> I tried to mimic the ups and downs of recovery with this chapter, so Kokichi's mood fluctuates a lot. Which is normal!
> 
> Forgive me if I don't provide an accurate description of a Psych ward and how it works. I have never been to one, so I am not liable to say any of the things that happen in this story are things that happen in an actual psych ward. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I worked a lot on it. 
> 
> Also! Thank you all for your sweet comments! I haven't had the chance to reply to them one by one yet, but I will be doing that as soon as I can. I'm still not doing better, but I'm sure I'll get there one day.

Psych ward.

That's what they had told him, staring down at him as he laid, unresponsive, in his coffin. _You’ll be put in a psych ward_.

It’s funny. It’s funny. _He’s not even sick!_ Why would he be sent to a mental hospital? He’s fine, going on the way he is. He’s fine.

(He’s not, he’s not, _he’s not-_ )

Saihara grips his hand tightly, lips wobbling as he listens to the report. Kokichi doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything at all. The bluenette lowers his head, clearly fighting back tears, and Kokichi just watches. Just watches.

_(J u st w atc hes)_

“When will he return?” Saihara whispers, gently rubbing his hand with his thumb, and the doctors look at each other. Warm. Saihara’s hand is warm, spreading heat along his cold, cold hands. 

“When the ward deems him mentally sound.” A doctor says, and Kokichi tracks Saihara’s eyes as they droop to the floor. He looks so defeated, so tired, and Kokichi wonders how long he had waited for him here.

Saihara lifts his head to give Kokichi a wobbly smile. “I’ll visit.” he breathes, still holding his hands, “I’ll wait for you.” Kokichi feels nothing but the warmth in his hand, looped up and into the sky on whatever drugs they used to keep him sedated. He stares back at the Bluenette, and squeezes his hand gently, to the best of his ability. Saihara lets out a soft sob, lifting his lifeless hand up to his chest.

“Goodbye.” Saihara whispers, and gently lays his hand back down. _No!_ He stands up from his sitting position, and slowly turns to the doctors. _No!_ They nod, and they slowly guide the boy to the door, taking his warmth with him. _No! Don’t leave me here!_

The doctors usher Saihara out of the room, and all Kokichi can think about is how cold his hand feels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello.” A doctor says, and Kokichi says nothing, sitting atop his deathbed like a lost child, cold and dead and alone. Empty, empty, empty.

“Now that you’re in stable condition, we can move you to the psych ward. We’ll be heading over there tomorrow. Is that ok?” The doctor asks, and Kokichi is tired. He lays back down, curling over himself as he drags his hand down his feeding tube. He lays there and rots, slowly, slowly, slowly. Slowly decomposing at the bottom of the lake.

The doctor leaves with a couple of passing words, and Kokichi stares out the window with slitted eyes, unseeing. His hand brushes against his feeding tube once more, and he grips it with contemplation. Presses the tube, stops the flow, then restarts it. Over and over and over.

_(The only thing keeping him alive.)_

Suddenly, Kokichi is angry. Hot, hot lava bubbles up in his chest and out his throat, and he clenches the tube tightly. He tugs at it experimentally, and chokes as it slides around in his neck. _Satisfaction_.

He lays there, clenching and unclenching his fist as he thinks. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Clench, unclench. _What is there to live for?_

Kokichi rips the tube from his mouth, gagging painfully as it constricts his throat and stops his air flow. His eyes bug from his skull as he gasps pitfully, pulling and pulling, tugging at his makeshift noose. _He wants it out, wants it out, out out out._

_(wants out, out, out.)_

The ever familiar black dots swoop in the edges of his vision, head underwater as he tugs and tugs and tugs. A clatter in the hallway, feet tap tap tapping down the corridor. His door opens, and there’s screaming, so much screaming. Kokichi can’t hear any of it, pulling, pulling, pulling, until there’s arms all around him, tugging and tugging, ripping his rotting limbs apart and choking, choking, choking. He’s being pulled, pulled apart.

He kicks, screaming as he fights, burning weakly like a flame, limp arms pushing and trembling legs shoving, flailing about in a desperate attempt to get free, to be set free. To fly, fly, fly away.

( _far, far away.)_

A prick in his arm, and he flickers out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ward is quiet when Kokichi arrives. 

It’s quieter than Kokichi had imagined initially, with nurses flitting about in silent shoes as they smile at the passing patients. Children of all ages, sizes, and ethnicities patter through the hallway he is led down, only a select few glancing at him passingly. It is almost… comfortable. Calm, even.

They take all his strings, his scarf, and all his “dangerous objects”, leaving him to tread quietly on grip socks as he heads to his new room. The silence sings in his veins, crawls under his skin and into his soul. Peaceful. He is numb.

The feeding tube jangles slightly as he walks, trailing behind his diminished form. Closely watched by a nurse, he drags the IV along. He is no longer trusted alone. _Fair_ , he assumes, as he did try to strangle himself with his feeding tube not too long ago.

The nurses open his door and usher him in, placing his bags at his bed. _Roommate,_ they explain when he stares at the other bed for too long, _you have a roommate. You’ll meet him later._ Kokichi doesn’t feel ready for a roommate. Doesn’t feel ready to make the change.

( _Confusing, it’s all so confusing. He wants to go home._ )

Kokichi plops on the bed, bones aching in protest as he massages his sore joints. Tired, tired, tired, he just wants to sleep. He lays down on the unfurnished bed, curling inward on himself as he tries to hold himself together.

_(you’re fine, you’re fine.)_

The nurses leave, keeping the door wide open as they sweep down the hall, flowing like water from a crack in a rock. Trickling down, with no discernible direction. Kokichi rests his weary head and feels heavier than he’s ever felt before. 

_(Water flows from his cracked eyes. Trickling down, with no discernible direction.)_

_Keep going. Keep going._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi doesn’t sleep.

As much as he wants to, the thought of sleeping with eyes watching him fills him with dread. So, in lieu of getting much needed rest, he begins to unpack his things. Out come his clothes, his fidget toys, his books, his blankets, his toiletries. 

_(out comes his razors, hidden deep within his deodorant.)_

Kokichi arranges them on his side of the room, picking up objects and moving them, changing positions, then putting them back. Indecisive. Everything feels wrong, out of place, and it’s driving him mad.

Kokichi sighs, frustrated with his lack of stability. Wobbly, everything feels shaky, like jenga. 

_(Just barely balancing, with collapse imminent. The only question is when?)_

Shaky, shaky, shaky. He picks up his things and shuffles them around the room again. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Wrong, everything is wrong. Everything is slightly shifted to the left, to the right. Just out of place, and Kokichi just can’t seem to get it right. Can’t seem to make it feel right.

_(wrong, wrong, wrong)_

“Oh? Hello there.” someone rasps from the doorway, and Kokichi whips around, immediately dizzy from the quick motion. He wobbles a bit from his spot, and nearly falls before he’s held up again. He flinches, and they back off. 

“Ah. Sorry about that.” They say, and Kokichi doesn’t look them in the eyes. Tired, too tired to pull up his mask. He’s done with that. Instead, he thanks them quietly before sitting down on his bed, pulling his sweater closer to his freezing body. He watches his (assumed) roommate sit on the bed opposite of him. White hair, like a tangled mess, adorns the older boy’s head, ends fading into a calm salmon color. Tense, coiled like a spring, Kokichi waits.

“Ah, I should introduce myself” the boy says, and Kokichi says nothing as he watches him lift his hand to his face. “My name is Nagito Komaeda. Nice to meet you.” The boy waits, and it takes a moment for Kokichi to realize that he’s waiting for a response.

“Kokichi Ouma.” He mumbles, and it seems the other takes the hint, as they both fall silent soon after. Kokichi goes back to rearranging his fidget toys, shuffling and shuffling and shuffling. Slightly to the right, to the left, forwards and backwards.

_(Kokichi has never felt more alone.)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi hauls his bags up to his bed, hands trembling slightly as he unzips the purple suitcases for what seems to be the thousandth time.

Kokichi is fragile, is glass, ready to shatter into a thousand fragments at just the slightest touch. Just barely holding himself together, wound tighter and tighter, a bundle of explosive emotions and feelings. Dangerous, deadly, sharp and callous. Weary, and defeated. He’s given up far too quickly. 

He goes through his bags once more, face heating as his emotions well up inside him. _(Keep it in, keep it in.)_ His eyes burn, burn, burn, and he feels on the verge of splitting apart, collapsing inward on himself, like dominos. Tumbling and tumbling and tumbling.

He shuffles through his clothes, sifting through the soft fabrics as he touches his neck. He feels bare, almost naked, without his scarf. Wrong, like a puzzle with a missing piece. Broken glass, with just one shard missing, swept under the table for someone to step on.

His hands brush against folded cloth. Frowning, he digs through the layers of clothes and books before he reaches the bottom of the bag. There, shoved haphazardly into a crevice, sits a blanket, previously unnoticed from his frantic organizing. Forgotten. _When did this get here?_

He picks up the cloth, unraveling it slowly.

It’s a plethora of fabrics, shittily stitched together with messy threading, made up of scraps of fabrics he likes and squares of Dice’s uniforms. Shoved together in one big, ugly mess. It’s funny, it looks funny, all bright and colorful, textures crossing and colors mixing in a horrible clash of the rainbow.

_(It’s stupid. It’s stupid. Just a mess of cloth. Just cloth, just cloth, just cloth.)_

Kokichi shatters quietly, water spilling over the blanket like soft rain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi _hates_ feeding time.

Hates it with a burning passion, hates sitting in that room and being forced to eat. Hates it more than he hates group therapy. 

_(He doesn’t like not being in control)_

Slowly, he moves his limbs to his chair, sullenly staring at his meal with an almost burning glare. He contents himself on attempting to set the food on fire with his eyes, picking up his spoons and clinking them against his plate. His hands tremble.

_(scary, scary, scary. Kokichi is scared, so scared, of the food that sits on his plate. How many calories?)_

Slowly, he raises a bit of food to his lips, pressing the cold spoon to his even colder lips. Heat raises off the meal, burning his skin. He opens his lips just so, and slips the bite through the barrier. Chews slowly, hesitantly, and swallows with a grimace. Heavy, he’s heavy again. Each bit is another stone, filling him up to the brim. 

_(He’s spilling over the sides, water sloshing out of his filled glass. He desperately grabs at the spillage, watching the liquid slip through his fingers. Slip straight from his grasp. He’s no longer in control)_

He looks up for a moment, and locks eyes with another patient. He watches as they motion to their plate, before making a cross with their fingers, grimacing. Kokichi nods, and they share a moment of solidarity. Two corpses, lost in the sea of the dead.

They break their gaze, and Kokichi continues to eat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi’s in the day room, halfheartedly scribbling on a piece of paper with a crayon he stole from the activity room, when he gets his first visit.

“Ouma-kun.” One of the nurses says kindly, and he looks up from his picture. “Are you up for a visitation? One of your friends wants to check up on you.”

Not a single person crosses his mind as he thinks of a potential visitor. Sure, Dice would come and visit, but they would visit as a group, and not just one person. So who? Who would want to visit him? 

_(Deep, deep, down, he thinks he knows.)_

Kokichi thinks for a moment. Thinks and thinks and thinks, thinks about his life so far, and how he got here. Stuck in a mental hospital, stuck throwing stones, slowly filling up his ever growing well. Thinks about how much he wants to leave. Thinks about the person that brought him here.

Anger flares deep in his chest, rising up his throat before flickering out weakly. Kokichi clenches his fist tightly around the crayon, fighting back the hot magma as it fluctuates up and down his chest, and closes his eyes. He lets out a sigh, unclenching his hands before gripping his sweater, taking comfort in the soft texture of the cloth. Kokichi falls deeper into his oversized sweater and lets the ripples flow outward and away from him. He’s tired, too tired, to feel anything anymore. He doesn’t want to see anyone.

_(In a way, he blames him. Blames him for keeping him alive and safe. Skipping stones on a lake.)_

Kokichi shakes his head, and the nurse smiles at him. “Alright, take your time.” She says, and Kokichi goes back to scribbling on his paper.

_(Maybe someday. Not today, but someday)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi can’t remember what he looks like.

Purple hair falls over his cheeks in a violent mess, and he knows he has purple eyes. Toxic, and poisonous. Overly bright, with paper white skin stretched over his bones. _Right?_

_(who is he?)_

Komaeda tells him that it’s normal, that after so long spent without a mirror, none of them can quite recall what their appearances are. Normal, Normal, Normal. _Why doesn’t he remember?_

Time seems to have stopped since he arrived, internal clocks forever silent as their hands still in his mind. Kokichi refuses to look at the devices, refuses to be subject to their incessant ticking. Refuses to be ruled by a mere number, telling him when he can or cannot do something. He’s the Ultimate supreme leader, and he stops for nothing. Not even time.

_(Kokichi is afraid. How much time has he wasted, rotting away in this place? An eternity? Several?)_

Kokichi looks at his hands, pulling at the skin on his fingers. Taut, pulled thin, his fingers look like bones, and he has to rub at the flesh to reassure himself that he isn’t just cartilage. He’s thin, he’s thin, too thin. 

( _Heavy? Thin? What is he?)_

The weights in his stomach tell a different story. How could he feel so heavy but look so light? Contradictions, in his looks and in his behavior. Timid, as opposed to brash. Thin, or heavy? Thin, or heavy? Loud, or quiet? Confused, he is confused.

_(Monster? Or human?)_

His fingers are looking a bit like claws, all boney and thin. Grotesque, a mess of bones and skin. Disgusting. Chasing after bits and pieces of something he knows he’ll never have.

( _Thinner, thinner, he wants to be thinner. But, what is there left to give?)_

Kokichi rubs his blanket with his talons, tracing the stitches as he thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patients murmur softly around him as they grab crayons of various colors, piled around a table with a soft sort of companionship. Kokichi sits in the middle of it all, making wide arcs with the colors he’s chosen. Calm, he is calm. 

Mindlessly, he scribbles on his paper, letting his mind float into the clouds as his body sits on earth. The crayon glides across the white of the paper, streaking reds and blacks and yellows across the white as he colors.

“Woah, that’s really good.” Someone says besides him, hushed and quiet as they tap his page. Silent, silent, silent, everyone is so peaceful, so kind, so calm. The quiet swallows him whole, envelopes his emotions and smothers him in it’s comfort. Like a badly stitched blanket. “Do you know them?” 

Kokichi looks down at his page, and 9 shining faces smile back at him. Kokichi immediately recognizes the picture his body has chosen to draw, gently tracing the curves of Spade’s pigtails and the slope of Jack’s smile. His family, captured mid-laugh, sits in the page before him. 

Something in his chest hurts, squeezing his insides into an uncomfortable bunch.

_(He misses them so, so much)_

Kokichi nods, dropping his colors as he grabs another page and quickly covers up his confusing emotions. He picks a new batch of crayons, sets out on drawing something else, something less painful, only to be stopped by the same person.

“You didn’t use those colors, though?” They say, and Kokichi looks over to where they point. Two crayons sit, deserted, just at the edge of his page. Deep blue, and faded gold.

_(deep blue, and faded gold)_

Kokichi shrugs, and pushes the crayons away from him. He starts drawing his next picture.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why do you feel like you have to become thinner?” Kokichi sighs in annoyance, agitated at the circles he’s been running with his therapist. They’ve been at it for what must have been 45 minutes, with Kokichi answering what seemed to be the same question over and over and over. 

“Because I’m not.” He answers, like he has for the past 45 minutes. His therapist clicks her pen and scribbles something, and restarts the cycle. Kokichi quite literally wants to rip his eyes out, frustrated to the point of physical harm. _Scratch, scratch, scratch_ , he digs his nails into his skin. Bored, he is so bored, nearly in tears as he answers the same question for the 26th time. 

“Ouma-kun.” His therapist drops her clipboard and stares Kokichi in the eyes. He avoids her burning gaze, wilting under the sudden spotlight. “I know you know the answer.”

_(he does. He does.)_

“Could you tell me?” She smiles gently, and Kokichi just looks down. He doesn’t want to say it, as if uttering the words could bring them to life, bring them into reality, and cement themselves in his bones. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how distorted he is, how broken he is, spilled across the floor like dropped china. Doesn’t want to be put back together. Doesn’t want to confront himself in the mirror.

He stays silent, and His therapist’s smile becomes a bit sadder. “Not today, huh?” She drops a square of cloth in his hands, and he looks up at her in surprise. The familiar checkered pattern fits into his hands perfectly, as if made to sit in his palm. His therapist grins, pointing at the cloth with a pencil.

“Your family came to drop these off.” She says, pushing a box of checkered squares towards him. “They said, and I quote, ‘what kind of leader doesn’t carry around recruiting gear everywhere he goes? We need more members, Fool!’” Kokichi huffs out a laugh, combing through the fabrics lovingly as he pulls it closer to his chest. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, and receives yet another smile. His therapist turns away from him and types into her computer. 

“They’re very excited to visit you next week, if you’re up to it?” She says, and Kokichi decides there’s nothing he’s ever wanted more. He nods, and his therapist dismisses him, sending him off with an encouraging grin.

He can’t stop smiling, light as a feather as he skips down the hallway. Floating, slowly, up to the surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the week, nearly all of the patients in the ward have been recruited.

Small checkered squares are shoved into various areas of visibility. Pinned onto shirts with glue, shoved into pockets, or stitched onto clothing with threads that no one seems to own. Kokichi has never been so proud to be a leader until now, watching one of the new members arguing with the nurses about the stitching on their shirt.

Turning around in a lazy circle, Kokichi takes in the view of his new recruits, nearly laughing at the disparity of it all. Everyone here was broken. Everyone here needed to be fixed. Funny. Funny.

_(He’s so, so broken, sharp to the touch and jagged. Don’t touch, don’t touch.)_

He leans on the table, not yet ready to stand up on his own, woozy with the dizziness that comes with years of starvation. An old friend he welcomes with reserved acceptance, wobbling slightly as he sits down with a thump. The water spills off the sides of his table, fills the room quietly until he’s underwater again. Sinking, sinking, sinking.

Kokichi sighs, water filling his bones, his throat, his heart, and sets his head down on the table. He thought he was better. He thought he was better.

_(Better? What is the meaning of “better’? What does it mean to be fixed, when you’ve only ever been broken?)_

Bubbles float to the surface as Kokichi looks up at the cold lights of the Hospital roof. They shift, dancing shakily further and further along, up, up, up and away from his heavy body, light, floating, free. So far away.

Someone sits next to him, and puts their head down on their hands as well. Kokichi looks to the side, and Komaeda stares ahead, breathing softly as they sit side by side. Doesn’t look, doesn’t look at Kokichi’s decomposing body, doesn’t glance at the bubbles flipping to the surface. Doesn’t look, but Kokichi knows he can see them all the same. Knows the other boy is the same as him, has spent so long underwater that he no longer chokes on the fluid. Two stones, at the bottom of the lake.

They sit in silence, watching the lights at the surface through the murky waters of their prison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have visitation today?” Nagito raspes from his spot on his bed, both boys wrapped snugly in their blankets. Kokichi’s patchwork quilt and Nagito’s dull green spread. 

“I suppose so.” Kokichi murmurs back, playing with the textures of his fabric, running his fingers back and forth across velvets and cottons and yarn. Comforting.

_(Nervous, he’s nervous. Is he too different? Is he the same? Which one is worse?)_

“You’ll be fine, Ouma-kun.” Kokichi pulls his hand down the conflicting textures, frowning a bit at the use of his last name. “I told you, Nagito-chan. You can call me Kokichi. I trust you.” Nagito smiles ruefully, shaking his head.

“Trash like me doesn't deserve to taint your name.” Nagito says, and Kokichi throws a fidget toy at the sickly teen, false pouting as he rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, hush. You’re not trash.” Kokichi frowns, and Nagito just huffs out a laugh and burrows deeper into his covers. Murky, their room is deep beneath the waves, hidden between stalks of kelp at the bottom of the lake.

Kokichi pushes bubbles from his mouth, watching as they stream towards the roof and pop lazily. Nagito does the same, and both boys wallow in their illness. Sick, they are both sick.

_(Is it him, or does the surface seem closer?)_

“Who’s visiting, if I may ask?” Nagito says, breaking their lonesome silence. Kokichi stares vacantly at his hands, picking at a loose string mindlessly. He tugs it one final time before sighing and pulling the blanket close.

“My family.” He leans backwards against the wall, and Nagito stares at the spot just above his head. It was a silent agreement, not to make eye contact. Spoken between wardmates, only broken once you leave. Strange, but comfortable.

“Is that a good or bad thing?” Nagito asks, and Kokichi thinks. He thinks and thinks and thinks.

“I don’t know.” He whispers, and they leave it at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi’s hands tremble as he waits in his room.

Nagito had long since left, promising his privacy with a simple nod of his head. Kokichi is left to wait alone. Tap, tap, tapping his feet on the stone bridge, wavering between the lines.

_(Between what? What is he walking this tightrope for?)_

Every sound has his heart racing, every tap of feet on the cold granite floor has him a nervous wreck. Drowning, he is drowning in this heavy atmosphere, waiting and waiting and waiting. His entire body feels like a live wire, buzzing with unchecked anxiety and nerves as he sinks into his bed. He can’t seem to stop shaking, despite his best efforts. His fingers shake and shake and shake, and he can’t grip his fidget toy quite right, dropping it every few seconds. He can’t hold it long enough to calm down.

Kokichi closes his eyes and counts, attempting to follow his therapist's instructions as he attempts to calm down. It doesn’t quite work as well as he wants it to, but it gives him something to focus on. He pulls at the frayed edges of his quilt, breathing in and out slowly. _1, 2, 3, 4._ In, out, in, out. _Count, count, count._

A knock on his door. It sounds like explosions in the silence, like bombs blowing up in the quiet air, and Kokichi catches his breath before he can even exhale again.

“Ouma-kun?” A nurse asks, soft and gentle, _loud, loud, loud,_ so very, very _loud_. “Ouma-kun, can we come in?”

He’s not ready. He’s not ready. Kokichi nearly vomits as he grips his quilt in a bone white fist. Still, he’s gone so very still, as not to be seen. If he sits still enough, if he sits still enough, _if he sits still enough, he won’t be seen._ Not ready, not ready, not ready. Nothing is real, nothing is real, nothing is real, his body won’t move, he’s trapped, he’s stuck, and nothing is real anymore.

“Ouma-kun?” The nurse says again, and Kokichi’s breath hitches. Calm, he has to calm down. Calm down, Calm down, _Calm down, down, down._ He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. _Okay, okay, okay._ He needs to breath, needs to breath, needs to open his mouth and let the air in, breath, _breath, breath._

(He’s okay, He’s okay, _he’s okay_ )

Whispers, they’re whispering outside his door. What are they saying? What are they saying? They start to move away, away, away. Away from Kokichi, in his lonely little room under the lake.

_No!_

Kokichi lurches off his bed, quilt flying behind him like a makeshift cape. A new sort of panic fills him, urges his legs to move, move to the door and rip it open, urges him to sprint down the hall as fast as he can, turn the corner and slam into the wall but keep going, keep going, keep going.

Dice turns to look at him from across the room, surprise coloring their faces as he streaks towards them. Water drips from his cheeks, pours like water from a faucet, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s crying. Weak, he’s so weak, but he pushes on nonetheless, colliding into his family’s arms like a meteorite.

_(It’s okay, it’s okay. Being weak has never felt more okay, wrapped up in his family’s loving embrace as he sobs. It’s okay. It’s okay.)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dice smells like cinnamon and joy. 

They tell him he constantly smells of lavender, of laughter, and Kokichi can’t help but grin.

He spends nearly all their visitation time wrapped around his family like a koala, and only spends the last few minutes introducing all the new members they have. Smiles lighting up their cheeks, they listen patiently to his babbling as he recounts all the misfortunes that had befallen during his stay.

It’s over too soon, way too soon, but the visitation hours have ended and they have to go home. Kokichi stubbornly clings to Ace like a parasite, unwilling to let go until the last second. Dice doesn’t seem to want to leave either, each and every member holding on to Kokichi in some way, whether it be a hand on his shoulder, or fingers brushing his sweater. 

“Oh, we have a present from someone.” Clubs says as they prepare to leave, giving him one final squeeze before she steps away. The touch lingers longer than it should, and leaves Kokichi cold, leaves him empty. He tilts his head, staring with inquisitive eyes as Jack shuffles forward and hands him something. “Who?” he asks, and his eyes drift downwards.

A bracelet, made of fine woven strings, sits in the palm of Jack’s hands. Purple and blue, tied snugly together in a simple, yet beautiful fashion. The ends are tied a bit sloppily, and the strings seem to be a bit loose in spots, but he can tell whoever made it tried. 

_(he knows. He knows)_

Dice are led away, trailing slowly behind a nurse like a pack of kicked puppies. He sends them one final goodbye, waving his hand and putting on his best smile. The bracelet burns a hole in his pocket, woven strings like fine whips of fire lighting on his skin.

_(It burns, shoved deep into the crevice of his suitcase. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to forgive just yet.)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’know, I haven’t seen Mi-chan in a while.” Kokichi says absentmindedly, pushing noise into the quiet atmosphere of their room. Nagito looks up from his book, turning to stare at the door, before looking back at Kokichi.

“Do you think they might’ve…” the other boy trails off, and Kokichi shakes his head. “Not Mi-chan.” He looks down at his book, twirling his hair with his hand. “They're definitely too shy to try anything.”

Nagito shrugs, leaning back against his head board. “Must have been set free, then.” Kokichi flips to the next page, eyes not quite comprehending the words in front of him. He shuts the books with a sigh, giving up on attempting to be productive. 

“Darn, another subordinate lost.” He grabs his fidget toy and plays with it, shifting to a more comfortable position on his bed. Nagito huffs out a laugh before touching his patch absentmindedly.

“I’m sure they’ll find you again.” Nagito says fondly, rubbing the soft checkered square as he flips his page. “That was the point of these patches, was it not?”

Kokichi tosses his toys in the air, watches as they rain down around him. “True.” He picks up another one of his toys and begins to fiddle with the workings, pressing buttons and twisting knobs in mindless comfort. Twist, pull, twist, pull. Pull, pull, pull.

“I never asked, but,” He says, curiosity finally winning his mind as he lazily rolls the toy, “What are you even here for?” Nagito looks up again, surprise flashing over his face before settling into a serene calm. 

“Why am I here?” Nagito repeats, placing his chin into his hand. He smiles and chuckles, and the sound of it leaves Kokichi feeling bittersweet. “I tried to kill myself. It’s the only reason why I end up here so often.”

“Multiple attempts?” Kokichi wonders, and Nagito mimes stabbing himself, dragging a hand across his throat and sticking out his tongue. Both boys giggle at his dramatic rendition of his suicide. It’s dark, the jokes they share, yet none of them care much of it. It was a privilege they gained from being so broken.

“And you?” Nagito leans forward just a tad, a knowing gleam in his eye. A formality, as he surely already knew, from the state he had arrived in. All bones, and paper thin skin.

“Starved myself half to death and ended up falling off a bridge.” Kokichi waves his hand flippantly, as if he wasn’t speaking about his shitty lifestyle choices. He loses himself in the memory, replaying the feeling of being so light. Too light, this he understands now, and with that knowledge comes a new wave of regret. 

“Was the bridge part an accident?” Nagito asks, and this Kokichi has to ponder. An accident? Was what happened really an accident?

_(He planned to fall, didn’t he? He just needed a push.)_

“A little bit of both.” Kokichi finally replies, and there's nothing more left to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi scratches words onto his journal page, spilling his mind out onto the white of the paper.

Abstract ideas and half formed thoughts fill the blank page, slowly drowning the pure white with a dirty gray. Incomplete sentences blending into doodles, doodles blending into words, and so on. He writes with no objective in mind, writes for the sake of writing, writes for the feeling of granite sliding over smooth sheets of paper. A pencil, this time, as he was good enough to warrant “pencil privileges”. Kokichi wonders how long it will take for them to take it away from him.

_(Good things come and go, just like his moods. Good, bad, and the in between, fluctuating like a mess in his chest. He’s working on it.)_

Kokichi looks up for a moment, hands still moving as he wanders off. When was the last visitation? Are Dice doing well? How is his organization faring, are they lost without their leader? Is the base alright? Did someone set the love hotel on fire again? He hopes not, that building itself costed a fortune.

Kokichi looks back down, and it seems his hands have taken on a life of their own, because the scribbles on the page begin to take shape. Familiar, but Half finished, sharp eyes with a soft look, lashes curling over high cheekbones. Gentle, from the slope of the shoulders to the curve of the smile, and Kokichi half expects the drawing to come to life. He has to look away, has to close the journal and set his pencil down. 

Maybe he should have the pencil taken away.

Kokichi gets up and leaves, planning mayhem as he twirls his pencil in his hand. A wicked smile sits on his face, filled with empty mischief and hollow laughter. What shall he do next?

_(The sketch of Saihara sits patiently on the table, half finished.)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time since he’s arrived, Kokichi finishes a plate without any trouble.

He’s surprised as he cleans the plate, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt as he finishes the last scrap of food. Strange, strange, strange. How long has it been since he’s felt this way?

_(Too long. Too long)_

He shows his empty plate to the nurses watching, and they send him off with a smile. Kokichi walks back to his room, confused, and relays the news to his friend. Nagito smiles knowingly when he admits this to the other boy, and Kokichi is left out of the loop. Why? What does this mean?

It takes Kokichi until midnight until he realizes the meaning of this revelation, a sleepy smile curling over his face. He snuggles deeper into his patched quilt, content filling his veins and pulling him closer to the surface.

_(He’s getting better. He’s getting better.)_

A tenth shining face is added to the picture, deep blue and faded gold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you ready to answer the question?” His therapist smiles at him, and this time he grins back. The atmosphere between them is comfortable, nothing like the tense agitation that had rippled between them so long ago. Change, he’s changed.

“Yes.” He says confidently, and her look of pride swells something in his chest. Blossoms like a flower, filling him with hope.

_(Proud, he’s so proud of how far he’s come.)_

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“For Dice!” Kokichi cheers as his followers swarm around him, riding the high of being in control. They swell like the crashing of waves at sea, swirling around the day room as they dance, light and full of laughter. They wave their stolen crayons like spoils of war, triumphant and high on success. The nurses sigh and stifle smiles in the background.

_(Kokichi will never tell them that this was planned, that he had spent several days convincing the nurses to allow them this one chance of freedom. They earned it, they earned it.)_

Smiles light up the faces of each and every patient, filling Kokichi with so much happiness. This, this is what he was missing. This is what he lives for.

_(For the first time in so long, he feels whole)_

And then, the uplifting atmosphere is broken by a couple of patients starting a massive fight, which ends in all patients being sent to their rooms. Kokichi doesn’t know why he didn’t expect this to happen, as this is a common occurrence. That, along with daily escape attempts and thrown chairs. 

Still, though, the smile stays fixed to Kokichi’s face. The first, genuine smile in a long, long time.

_(and there will be many, many more)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi fiddles with his suitcase in his room, shoving things around as he tidies his things. A reminiscent of his first day here, except he’s packing his things to leave. Funny, how things stay the same.

“You’ll find me, right, Na-chan?” Kokichi asks, and Nagito sends him a bittersweet smile. They both know the answer, and it’s an uncertain one.

“I’ll try.” He says, and it’s the best they can get. Sharing any contact information with ward mates is forbidden, so there’s really no way they can find each other easily. Not with the nurses over their shoulders every second of the day, and not with the lack of information shared.

“I’ll be counting on your luck, then.” Kokichi teases, and they both crack smiles at this. He vows to find all his members, from the ones who had left before, to the ones still stuck in this hospital. He’ll find them all.

_(because that’s what family does.)_

Kokichi fusses with a stubborn zipper, frowning as it refuses to close. Fumbling around the clasp, his fingers brush against string, and he unhooks the threads from the zipper to take a better look.

Nagito peers over his shoulder, laughing quietly in his ear. “That’s nice.” He asks, and Kokichi just runs his fingers over the smooth threads. “Who made that?”

Kokichi turns the bracelet over under the ceiling lights, contemplative as he takes in the colors. “Someone important.” He says, and Nagito smiles before returning to his side of the room.

He turns it over and over, and thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you all ready?” His nurse asks, and Kokichi nods with a smile. 

His suitcases trail behind him as he walks, jangling slightly at his upbeat pace. Members of all sizes, ages, and ethnicities stand to the side, bidding their leader one final goodbye. He has his beloved checkered scarf on, sitting on his neck with a comforting weight as he leaves. Quiet, it’s quiet, but the loud kind of quiet, with hushed farewells and grins lighting up the silence. Comfortable, swimming into his chest with a bittersweet content. 

Kokichi reaches the entrance, thanking his nurses with a cheerful smile, and turns to the door. So long, so long he has spent in this place, that even the thought of the outside world seems foreign. Seems strange.

_(Exciting, like another world to explore.)_

Kokichi pushes open the gates, and breaches the surface for the first time. No longer confined to the bottom of the lake, the light hits his face as he breathes his first breath of air.

Dice stands before him, just at the edge of the parking lot, and Kokichi can’t help but smile. Faster, faster, his legs pump as he flies towards his home. He barrels into them, laughter spilling from his lips like water from a dam, and soon they’re giggling like madmen in the golden light of the dying sun. Relief, happiness, and the feeling of being free fill up in Kokichi’s bones, floating him high up into the air. Home, he’s finally home.

He’s finally set down after a while, Diamond ruffling his hair harshly as he complains with a grin. Perfect, everything is perfect. Giddiness rising up his throat and spilling out in the form of joyous laughter.

They turn as one and face the setting sun, and Kokichi is never more ready to go home. He can’t help but smile when he notices one lone figure, framed by the golden light, hesitantly step forward.

“I waited.” Saihara murmurs, and it’s nervous, like he doesn’t expect acceptance. Kokichi laughs, and brushes his hair behind his ear.

“That you did.” He smiles, and Saihara returns it with his own. Hands entwined, they walk off to where Dice awaits from the car. Purple and blue threads, braided in harmony, sit snugly on Kokichi’s wrist.

_(He’s okay, he's finally okay)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on the final chapter being Kokichi's recovery and life outside of the ward, since recovery is never a one hit and done thing. There will be more trials he'll be facing, sadly, and that's reality.
> 
> And for all the Saiouma shippers, I promise the ending will have a bit more saiouma in it! This fic is just mainly focused on Kokichi and his recovery with a mental illness. There wasn't much Saiouma in this chapter because Kokichi was not in the right mental state to be thinking about loving another person. He first has to love himself.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I am thinking about adding more chapters, like following Kokichi's recovery, so if you're interested in that, please tell me! Even if you don't, I'll still probably do it. I'm a sucker for happy endings.
> 
> Also, if you noticed the obsession with red apples, it's mostly because every time I try to eat one, I hesitate. I don't trust the fact that a fruit that big has that little calories. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and PLEASE STAY SAFE


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